


Speak

by magpieconsultant



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bone cancer, Cancer, Dancer Sherlock, Dancer!Sherlock, Dancing, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, Feels, HIV/AIDS, Illnesses, Leukemia, Lung Cancer, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Sad, Seizures, Self-Harm, St. Bart's, St. Bart's Patients, Teenlock, Unilock, interpretive dance, medical patients
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpieconsultant/pseuds/magpieconsultant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John hates going on outings with his girlfriend Sarah. But when he's forced to go to an interpretive dance showcase, he becomes very interested in one of the performers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything Helps

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any triggers, please please please look over the tags before reading! There is a lot of stuff going on here, and the last thing I want is to have someone upset.

“Come on.” Sarah insisted, pulling at John’s arm to go out the door. “It’ll be fun.” She’d assured.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go.” He answered, letting Sarah step out the door to meet her outside. John paused a moment to get his jacket, looking over to his roommate, Greg, who was already grinning. “Don’t you laugh at me.” He warned, pointing a warning finger at his friend.

“I’m not laughing.” Greg replied, putting his hands up in a defensive position before tucking them behind his head to rest on the couch. “It just gives me more time to have the flat to myself.” He laughed, looking on as John donned his jacket.

The medical student rolled his eyes, fixing the collar of his coat before plucking his wallet from a bowl on the coffee table where they kept such things. (Initially that had been a problem. Greg had managed “lose” his keys multiple times inside the house when John had been locked out since he’d forgotten his own.) “Oh, come on, I know that you’re not alone when we go out.” John shot back to him, lingering a moment before he left, wanting to drag out the moment as long as possible. “You invite Molly over, and that’s fine with me, just don’t make a mess, eh?” He joked, watching as recognition flickered across Greg’s face. So he’d been caught. “Why do you invite her over anyway? I mean, not that she isn’t nice, she’s cool. But—“ He shrugged. “I just didn’t think she was your type, y’know?”

Greg scoffed, already taking out his phone to invite over his girlfriend. “Same reason you’re going out with Sarah right now.” He countered smartly, a knowing grin on his lips.

At the mention of her, Sarah peeked in through the front door. “John, come on, we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.” She warned, waving to urge him to come outside. Taking a deep sigh before shoving his hands into his pockets, John nodded to his friend. “Stay safe, right?” He teased, clicking his tongue before going out the door, letting it slam quietly after walking outside.

“We’re just watching a film--!” Greg had called, seconds before the door had closed. He turned to his mobile, bringing it to his ear. “Hey—“ His sentence was cut off by the door being opened again, and he paused, looking up.

“Just forgot my keys.” John explained, the door closing for the final time, the deadbolt locking behind him.

_“What was that, Greg?”_ He heard from his phone as he laughed.

“Oh, nothing. Just John trying to avoid his girlfriend again.”

* * *

John really did hate this, going out to these things with Sarah.

Of course he had gone along, though. They were still in that phase of the relationship where you can’t really say no without coming of as an asshole.

This habit, of course, had led him on numerous excursions, starting with an art gallery. The pieces had been created by a friend of Sarah’s who wasn’t much older than the two of them (her name was Tina, or at least something like that). Her work had focused on the similarities between vegetables and various bodies of water. Since Sarah and the artist were friends (apparently they’d been in the same sorority), she and John had been given the ‘privilege’ to speak to her as she was presenting her pieces. Tina had claimed that the work was ‘abstract’. John had done his best not to laugh, but he did chuckle a little bit, a hand discretely (at least he thought so) clamped over his mouth to stifle the noise.

The second outing had been a museum exhibit on the history of buttons, which had been vaguely entertaining, but John found little value in the information. But the outings seemed to make Sarah happy, and he supposed that was what he wanted.

This evening Sarah had dragged him along to some sort of dance recital. He didn’t understand why she enjoyed these artsy things so much. Why would she ever think that he would enjoy this? John wasn’t the artsy type, she should’ve been able to tell that. They’d met at a rugby match, for God’s sake! He would’ve preferred to go to something more like that. All of these art expos and exhibits and demonstrations (Sarah already had a plan to go to an arts fair on Saturday, it was Tuesday night, so John still had enough time to ponder on some sort of excuse) were something John was beginning to find emasculating.

Sarah hadn’t bought their tickets in advance, so there was a brief moment of hope while they waited at will call. But it was a dream short-lived when the teller passed over the two ticket stubs. “Yer seats ‘re gonna be through this front door, t’yer left and then yer second left. N’joy the show.” She replied, her voice bored as she’d probably repeated the same words numerous times to different people over the course of the night. She passed them both a program for the show, and the two of them walked inside, following her directions.

The theatre itself was rather outdated and somewhat depressing. The sides of the halls were haphazardly splattered with wallpaper that had been colored a sickly yellow. The shade had probably been an attempt to initially bring light into the building that appeared to be almost completely void of windows. What was this architect thinking when they designed this place? It’s like a prison… John thought, his gaze shifting from left to right as he observed the dismal walls.

On the other hand, Sarah seemed to be in love with the place. “Oh, it’s so… quaint!” She exclaimed happily, making their way out of the hallway and into the seating area. Once her back was turned, John rolled his eyes, a hand reaching up to scrub at his disgruntled face. John followed to sit on Sarah’s right, the springs of the seat digging into the backs of his legs and bum uncomfortably. He cleared his throat as he shifted in the seat, trying to find a position that was comfortable. In the end, he nearly became a pretzel, his hip resting on the seat with his right leg crossed over his left, arms crossed over his chest. Sarah must’ve taken this as a sign of adoration since she turned to give him a smile, which he returned uncomfortably with a nervous chuckle. He opened the program for the show, taking a look at the front cover a moment, a silhouette of a dancer, hands extended above their head and back arched. ‘Southern London Interpretive Dance Showcase—Patients of St. Bart’s Hospital’ He read, the words a striking red against the black and white against the silhouette. Great. Now I’m starting to use these fluffy art terms, too. John thought, pinching at the bridge of his nose for a moment before leafing through the program to look at the various performances. “Wait a minute…” John paused, turning to Sarah who was also going through the program, his voice catching her attention. “Are all of these performers patients?” He asked, unaware that would be a part of the showcase. Sarah nodded, her face a bit melancholy.

“Yeah.” She answered with a nod, pointing to the program. “It explains it there.” She supplied, turning back to her own pamphlet.

“Must’ve missed that.” He mumbled, reading the description.

_“The director of our production this evening, Alice Knight, has been a doctor at St. Bart’s Hospital for twelve years. She studied as a dancer in her younger years, but wasn’t able to find a way to incorporate her passion for dance into the workplace until this time last year. Alice was working in the young adult’s wing of St. Bart’s when she came across a group of patients in a support group who expressed their interest in having an activity for them to engage in during their recovery. Some of our patients ailments include leukemia, drug addiction, epilepsy, lung cancer, bone cancer, HIV, AIDS, as well as mental disorders that affect recovering patients. Alice asked all of the patients to settle on a song that they felt described them well and what they’ve been through. The patients were all given the option to disclose their conditions, and they all agreed unanimously to do so. All of the proceeds from tonight (which come from purchasing tickets and concessions) will be donated to St. Bart’s to help other patients in need. From all of us here at St. Bart’s: Thank you, and enjoy the show!_

_This showcase has been dedicated to Kate, who was unable to make it to the performance._

_RIP Kate 1997-2014”_

“Wow…” John murmured. “I didn’t know that people did stuff like this. How did you hear about this?” He asked, turning to Sarah, who turned back to him.

“Alice is a friend of my mom’s; she suggested I go. Anything helps.” She explained with a shrug. The answer sent a slight pang of guilt through John’s stomach as he realized that Sarah had paid for everything. He reminded himself that he would need to at least buy a couple of cookies on the way out. He continued to feel worse as he looked through the list:

_‘Jennifer Hartt (22, HIV+, in treatment)--Across The Universe_  
 _Perry Goodwyn (15, Bone cancer, in remission)--Human_  
 _Lester Atkins (17, Clinical depression, in treatment with support)--Same Love_  
 _James Bowen (16, Epilepsy, seizure free for three months)--Radioactive_  
 _Erica Stanwood (19, Self-harm victim, in treatment with support)--Run To You_  
 _McKensie West (16, Leukemia, in treatment)--Glory and Gore_  
 _Aaron Vic (18, Lung cancer, in remission)--Stronger_  
 _Talor Evans (23, AIDS, in treatment)--Fix You_  
 _Sherlock Holmes (19, Drug addiction, in treatment with support)--Say Something’_

“Shit…” John muttered, bringing a hand to his mouth. Sarah looked over to him with a quizzical expression, to which he responded to by gesturing to the program. “These poor kids.” He explained, unable to properly formulate the words he was thinking. “They—they’ve already been through so much. Look—“ He pointed at the paper “Look at her!” He urged, gesturing to the picture of Perry Goodwyn as the lights were growing dim. “This girl is only 15 and she has bone cancer.” He stressed, his voice completely exasperated as Sarah continued to assess him with a confused expression. “I just—“ He grumbled, moving around in his seat again. “I just don’t think it’s fair, you know?” He shrugged, putting away his program to watch the show.

“Well, then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re going to be a doctor.” Sarah replied quietly as the ancient velvet curtain was lifted to reveal the stage.

Needless to say, John was much more interested in the performance now. He hadn’t expected this little twist to the show, but now he found himself significantly more invested. As he watched the first couple of people perform, he couldn’t help but notice the amount of emotion that had been put into all the subtle movements the dancers were making. Not only were they incredibly honest in the way they moved, they were also extremely expressive. John could tell that Jennifer wished to have back the man that had gotten her sick, but she seemed to be unable to bring herself to do it. For what reason, he didn’t know, but she was entitled to have at least a little bit of privacy.

All of the performers were already exposing so much of themselves, and honestly, John felt a little bit invasive. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about how he felt about things, or to talk about that kind of thing with people in general. But this way of communicating, the dancing. It made everything very clear to him; everything was very distinct and it all made sense.

His heart went out to Lester; who had hoped he would be accepted by his peers when he came out, but was only pushed away. He wished he could comfort James; who felt so very alone when his brain decided that it had done enough for the day and decided to shut off. And John simply just wanted to talk to Erica, who felt that her own pain would be the only thing to help her feel better when life simply became too difficult.

John was lost in the beauty and fluidity of the movements; his eyes glued to the stage as different patients flitted across from side to side, some occasionally sitting down, some making huge leaps in both directions. How could something so beautiful be hiding something so painful?

The performance was paused before McKensie went for intermission, and both John and Sarah stood up to go to the lobby. Looking to his side a moment, he caught sight of his girlfriend. “Hey.” He comforted, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Hey.” He repeated, giving her a gentle pat. “Don’t cry.” He chuckled, squeezing Sarah’s shoulder before moving away to simply take her hand. It felt nice, finally being able to give someone some form of comfort when he’d been unable to reach the others that had been hurting so badly. It made John feel much better, and he could tell that Sarah appreciated the gesture. She brushed away her tears before giving him a gentle smile and they approached the table that was distributing the refreshments. Brushing Sarah off (who had tried to take out her wallet) John took out what cash he had in his wallet. “Could we just have a couple cookies, please?” He asked, smiling to the person at the table. Her nametag identified her as ‘Susan’ who was a nurse at St. Bart’s. The woman gave him an odd look that was both grateful as well as confused.

“This is far too much for just a couple, are you sure?” She asked, simply needing to be certain that John wanted to give away his money as she was handing over the goods.

John nodded, smiling at her. His eyes turned up slightly at the corners, the blue of his irises shining delicately as his head bobbed up and down to signal confirmation to the woman. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just as long as it goes towards the kids.” At this assertion, Sarah laughed lightly as they walked away, back toward their seats. “What are you laughing at?” He replied, nudging her gently with his elbow as they sat back down.

“’The kids?’” She laughed, taking a bite of her cookie. “John, you’re not a day over 21. There are people performing in this that are older than you.” She reminded, the small smirk refusing to leave her lips.

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite from his own sweet. “You know what I meant.” He replied, waiting for the curtain to lift again.


	2. Get a Grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does his performace

Backstage, some of the dancers stood in the green room. The space itself was rather small, only big enough for about four of them at a time. They’d all taken a moment during the intermission to allow themselves to have a seat. It could only be expected for the dancers to be a bit shaken from the experience. Practicing their dances during rehearsal was one thing, but to perform in front of an audience was completely different. Surprisingly to the whole group, it turned out that so far Perry had been the most shaken by her performance. Lester had done his best to comfort her, but she’d assured him that she was fine, brushing him off.

  
Sherlock understood why she was upset. Out of all of them, she had one of the most dismal backgrounds being the youngest out of the group with one of the most vicious of ailments. She was lucky enough to be in remission, unlike McKensie. It was obvious from the way the other girl walked that she was in a great deal of pain. Sherlock gave her a sideways glance, shifting in his seat as he made a few last touches to his makeup, his lips now black. “You want some aspirin?” He asked, nodding toward his bag. They’d been away from the hospital for the day, so McKensie had been unable to get her medication. Of course, she’d had the permission of her doctor to perform in the showcase, but she’d been warned that the pain may start up again.  
The girl looked away from her reflection in the mirror a moment, turning to Sherlock. “I thought you weren’t allowed to have aspirin?” She asked, her voice concerned as well as interested. She wanted to have some, of course, her joints had been giving her trouble.

  
At the question, Sherlock chuckled, getting up from his chair to make his way to his bag, squeezing between the two other dancers (Aaron and Talor) in the green room. “Even if I wasn’t allowed to have it, I wouldn’t use it anyway.” He explained, taking the small bottle out of his bag, handing it to McKensie, who still had a puzzled expression about her features as she looked down at the container. Sherlock sighed. “Just take it.” He urged, pushing the bottle into her hand, not waiting to give her the chance to reject the medicine. “It doesn’t work on me.” He added, striding over to his bag before removing his shirt, stuffing the white cotton into his pack and leaving the girl pained and confused.

  
Walking out of the cramped space, Sherlock took a seat on the couch that had been provided by the theatre for the back stage area, crossing his legs on top of the cushion. Perry still seemed to be upset, but he paid her no mind. She would be fine come tomorrow when they were all in support group.

  
He laughed softly as he thought back to this time the year before. He’d been so full of anger then, full of regret and hurt. He’d been hell-bent on getting out of the support group. It had been Mycroft’s idea in the first place, and that fact made Sherlock want to rebel even more. He didn’t want help; he hadn’t thought he needed it. But when his brother had threatened that the Money would go away again, Sherlock decided to tough it out and stay with the support group.

  
They met every Tuesday and Thursday at 4:00, and it was two weeks after he started going that Alice showed up at one of their meetings. The doctor that had originally been directing their support group had gone (unexpectedly) on maternity leave, and the hospital had scrambled to find someone else to take her place.

  
Sherlock had never thought himself a dancer. But Alice had insisted that he had the ideal build for the activity. And he’d known that, he just hadn’t expected it to be something he would excel at so naturally. Aaron and Lester had done some dancing before this, but Sherlock easily outdid them with his inherent skill. It was an odd feeling, but it somehow felt like it was a part of him that he’d just left alone a while. It had collected a bit of dust from going unused, but all he had to do was give it a good polish and he was as good as new.

  
Soon enough, it was time for McKensie to perform, and she passed Sherlock quietly, making her way to the entry way at stage right. She gave him a small smile, which he returned gently, Sherlock guessing that this was her own small way of thanking him for the medication that was obviously helping her aching physique. Sherlock had watched her performance many times before. In fact, he’d studied all of the performances in great detail. He’d done so in the hope that he would be able to make his own routine even better. He studied the minor movements that the other, more advanced dancers made (which he didn’t know about by virtue of the fact that he was still learning) and incorporated some, but not all, into his own sequence. He found that the dances were more impactful when you knew the stories behind them. Sure, the people watching tonight had a vague idea of what had happened to all of them, but they didn’t know the specifics.

  
They didn’t know that Lester had attempted suicide four times.

They didn’t know that Talor was raped.

There were many things they didn’t know, but he supposed it would be better that way. When people know too much they get scared. And when people get scared, they run away. At least, that was how Sherlock decided to look at things.

  
McKensie’s song finished, and the audience clapped for a few moments before Talor went out on stage to do his own routine. The girl sat next to Sherlock, dabbing at her eyes. Oh, God, crying. She was crying. He didn’t know how to deal with that. The best outcome would probably result in the girl tearing up even more. Feeling slightly panicked, yet refusing to reveal the reaction on his face, Sherlock searched for a way out of the position he was now trapped in.

  
“Alice needs me.” He reported stiffly, standing up quickly from his seat to march over to the green room again.  
“But Sherlock—“ McKensie began, watching him leave with a baffled expression. That was odd. She’d been nearly certain that Alice had been sitting in the audience.

  
As Sherlock went back into the small dressing room, it suddenly hit him. He was next. He was the next performer, the last one on the list. Refusing to look at his reflection, he snatched his bag from the floor, taking out a small notepad that had little doodles and the like scribbled on the pages. His eyes flickered over the notes, doing his best to burn all the information in front of him to memory for a second time. Four beats and turn, eight and drop. It didn’t help. Talor’s song was four minutes and fifty five seconds long, and it was nearly halfway over by now. What if he forgot the second step in the eighth measure? Or the fourth?

  
_Get a grip._ His mind demanded, bringing his right hand down hard across his cheek. A small burst of adrenaline exploded through his stomach, and he took a deep, steadying breath. His back shot up straight, and the light sea-colored eyes became clearer. The worst thing that could happen would be forgetting the dance moves, and even then, he could just improvise. He had enough talent to get through his song by merely bullshitting the whole thing, no one would know the difference (in the audience, anyway).

  
Taking one last breath, Sherlock stood up, hearing the audience applaud Talor. Gathering up what he had of his courage (not to mention sanity), Sherlock approached the doorway that lead to the empty stage. Talor walked back in, and gave the dark-haired young man a gentle smile. “You can do it, man.” He encouraged, placing a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder before passing to take a seat where he’d been before.

  
And with that, he stepped out.

  
The lights were hot, they nearly blinded him. The only thing that was good about the lights was the fact that they made a small barrier of light between himself and the audience, making it less easy to make out the dark shapes. Sherlock could feel the eyes of the onlookers gazing upon him, assessing him. And it felt… odd. It felt vulnerable. Of course they weren’t looking at him, seeing him, in the same way he saw people. But he still felt like an open book. He wanted to run, like a deer in headlights, he wanted to run. But that wasn’t why he was here. Sherlock hadn’t come here to run.

  
With slightly shaking hands, Sherlock raised them above his head as the first notes of his song began to play. The music flowed effortlessly, and he went with it, allowing it to guide him. He knelt on the ground, just as he was supposed to, right on the 12th chord. In perfect syncopation with the piano, he stepped across the stage, making his spins as he did so, making the movements look effortless. The music, while it was beautiful, hurt. Perhaps he’d picked too personal, too meaningful a song, but it was far too late to change now. Every lyric was like a pin into his heart, each one leaving a smarting sensation in his chest. Yet he refused to let his pain get the better of him, taking his emotions and channeling them into his movements, the subtlety of his steps.

  
When the music had reached its highest point, Sherlock leapt into the air, hands extended behind his back. And he was flying. The stage was gone, the audience was gone, Talor was gone, McKensie was gone, and he was alone. But it was good. It didn’t hurt. It was just Sherlock and nothing else and nothing could touch him. Almost like he was a bird. And he’d never felt so free in all his life, never felt so unattached.

  
But then, like a dream that ends so suddenly, he was on the ground. It was made to look like it hurt, that was his intent. Some of the audience members gasped, but he paid them no mind. And Sherlock realized that he wasn’t dancing anymore, he was telling them. He’s telling them what happened. How it felt when the Money ran out and he had to make it for himself. How it felt when he thought nothing was worth anything anymore. How it felt when his friend died in front of him.

  
Unintentionally, Sherlock lets out a yelp that sends him into tears, but he fights through it, not willing to give up yet. That was behind him. He would not give up today.

  
The dancing had become much easier now, and he realized that it didn’t hurt as much. Perhaps the whole thing had been somehow therapeutic. The music came to a close, and Sherlock ended as he always had in rehearsal. He was on the ground, lying on his right side, his shoulder touching his ear as his arm extended upward. He closed his eyes, the last few tears creeping to the corners and on to his cheeks. The last note was played, and he stayed there, the lights gone black.

  
The crowd remained silent a moment before launching into a frenzy of clapping and cheering, beginning first with one person (a man, probably the back row, Sherlock guessed), but then growing until every member of the audience was out of their seats and joining in. When the lights had come back on, Sherlock was standing, his hands being held by the other dancers as they all bowed to the audience. Their applauding grew as all of the performers appeared on stage, and they bowed a second time before waving to the audience and going back stage.

  
When they all went behind the stage, and were away from they watching eyes of the audience, his peers turned to him, giving him hugs and words of praise that he didn’t hear.

  
“That was great, Sherlock!”

  
“I’ve never seen you dance like that, Sherlock!”

  
“Yeah, that was amazing!”

  
Unable to respond, he merely nodded in thanks, waving them away.

  
“C’mon, Perry, he probably wants to be alone.”

  
“Yeah, he probably needs some time to recover.”

  
Sherlock walked back into the green room, picking up his bag and slinging it across his shoulder and walking toward the back entrance of the theatre. In his haze, he didn’t realize that the door was locked until he got there.  
“Sherlock, are you coming to the cast party?”

  
“Yeah, we’re going to go get some ice cream.”

  
He shook his head to show the negative. “No thanks. I just want to go home.”

  
“Oh. Okay. Well. We’ll see you Thursday, yeah?”

  
“Yeah, see you then.” He replied to the speaker, whoever that happened to be. Sherlock didn’t mean to come off as rude, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He was naturally an asshole, that wasn’t his fault. He walked out again the way that he’d come in not moments ago. The lights were off now, and the theatre itself was much cooler. It felt nice on his exposed skin as he walked down the steps to get to the front entrance of the theatre. He sighed when he realized that he needed to stop at the grocery store on the way home. At least he’d cleaned out the hatch on his motorcycle to keep the merchandise, he hadn’t done it in a month. That was a good thing. Alice had said that it was good to keep track of good things that happened. It made the bad things seem less… Well, bad. He readjusted his bag so that it was higher on his shoulder, not seeing the people in front of him.

  
He was just about to walk out of the front entrance when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm, he wanted it to go away. “Hey.” The attached voice urged. It was quite a bit odd, it sounded far away, almost like the voice was talking into a soup can attached to a string. He turned, looking for the face that was attached to the voice as well as the hand and arm. Well, there were eyes, and a nose. A mouth, too, so that made one complete face. At least he wasn’t hallucinating, that was good. Another thing to add to the list. Sherlock blinked a couple of times, trying to get them to focus.

  
“I’m sorry, what?” He asked, as he realized that the mouth was moving. This was terribly annoying. Since when had it become so difficult to focus on more than one thing at a time?

  
“I said I’m John.” The voice replied, and slowly things began to blur into focus again. Sherlock was able to see the whole face as a whole, and the voice was attached now, though he would need to work on establishing the whole body. Sherlock nodded while he realized that the face—John, as he’d declared himself—looked somewhat confused, looking down slightly. Sherlock followed suit, realizing that his hand was extended and waiting to be shaken.

  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Sherlock answered, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself from this odd in-between feeling. “Sorry.” He repeated, reaching out to shake the hand that was now attached to the body of John. “Uh—Sherlock.” He confirmed, nodding slightly. This was awkward, he just wanted to get to his motorcycle and go home.

  
“Yeah, I know.” John answered, obviously oblivious to Sherlock’s desire to leave. “You know, what you did, back there. It was really—“ He paused, shaking his head and letting out a breath, unable to choose the correct word.

  
“Fantastic.”  
“Abstract.”

  
They’d spoken at the exact moment, and the combination of words made John laugh gently, playing with his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. Was he nervous? Sherlock couldn’t tell in this state, which annoyed him to no end, but he found himself joining in with John’s laughter.

  
“Well, yeah. But I suppose that’s what I liked about it. It was very—“ He paused again, making an odd gesture with his hand in an attempt to help his mind evoke the correct word. “I dunno. Impactful? That’s the best word I can think of.” He explained, still doing that thing with his neck. Did he have some sort of ache? Why was he doing that?

  
“Yes, well. I need to be going.”  
“So, you have a girlfriend?”

  
Sherlock had been pointing behind himself to signal that he was leaving when they’d yet again spoken at the same time. He considered just leaving then and there, but he paused, able to formulate a: “I—no. No. That isn’t really my… Area.” He explained, his face crinkled up in confusion as he continued to point outside with his thumb over his shoulder. That was when he noticed a young woman approaching John from behind, taking his hand to stand next to him. Sherlock paused, taking a moment to chuckle to himself. “Appears to be yours, though.” He laughed. “Goodbye, John.” He concluded, turning to go out the front door, leaving John alone with Sarah.

  
“Oh, was that Sherlock?” She asked, watching as the dancer left. “He was amazing, easily the best out of all of them.” She commented, turning to John to smile at him.

  
“Did you say your mum was friends with Alice? The director, right?” John asked, turning to Sarah, completely ignoring what she’d said.

  
“Well, yeah.” She answered, caught a bit off guard by his abruptness. “Why, what makes you ask?”

  
“I’m going to need her number.”

  
“What? Why would you need it?”

  
“I think I’m going to do my internship at St. Bart’s.”


	3. It's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts his new internship at St. Bart's

In retrospect, the interview had gone quite well. Alice seemed to be happy that John had donated a generous sum of money to the hospital, and that had given him an advantage in the hiring process for the internship. She’d asked him some other questions, such as where he was studying (University of Westminster, it was only about a 15 minute drive from the hospital, so that was nice) and why he wanted the internship to begin with. Of course, John had planned for this question ahead of time, saying that he wanted to help the patients that he’d seen at the performance. That being said, he managed to omit the fact that Sherlock was the main contributor to this desire. Yes, John wanted to help, but Sherlock and his performance had been the one that sent him over the edge of uncertainty.

“Well, John, you seem like a very nice young man and I would love to have you join us here at Bart’s. You’re more than qualified; you’re almost done with your degree.” Alice smiled over her desk, the surface littered with papers of varying importance and sensitivity. At the moment, the doctor had her hands full with a file which John’s CV and other information she needed was being kept.  After a few moments of silently analyzing his other credentials, she closed the file, placing it in a drawer in her desk. “If you’d like to join us, I’d be more than willing to add you to our team.” Alice replied, weaving her fingers together on top of her desk.

John’s face lit up, happy that he would be able to see the dancer from the week before. After this thought crossed his mind, he reminded himself that the internship was more important at the moment. He stood up across from Alice, hand extended to shake hers. “Thank you very much, Alice. I would love to join you.” He answered as she took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “When would you like me to start?” he asked, putting his hands behind his back as he waited quietly for instructions.

Getting out of her seat, Alice approached her new employee. “You can start now, if you’d like.” She answered, making her way out to the hallway, needing to get back to her own work. “I need to go to support group now, it’s nearly four.” She explained, looking at her watch as she made her way down the hall, thumb pointing behind her back in the direction of the room. Her face had been filled with one of apprehension as she sought out someone that might be able to help John, but her face lit up a moment later, locking on to someone that John couldn’t see (the person was behind him). “Oh, it’s Mike!” She grinned, pointing out the young man she’d spoken about for John. “Mike! Can you please give John the tour and everything? He just started the internship as well. Get to know each other, you guys, you’ll be spending a lot of time together.” The doctor finished, making a hasty retreat as she jogged down the hallway in the other direction.

Looking down the hall, John found the intern that Alice had been speaking to. He was a shorter bloke, maybe just a tad overweight, but John guessed that a portion of it came from muscle since he had a somewhat athletic build. Walking down to meet him, John extended his hand again, grasping Mike’s as he gave him a friendly grin. “John Watson.” He introduced.

“Mike Stamford.” He answered, returning the smile as well as the shake. “So you just got hired, eh? Well, welcome to Bart’s.” He nodded, pushing a cart of soiled linens down the hall. “Shall we begin the tour?” He asked in a goofy tone, waving one arm about, making John chuckle slightly. “Anyway—“ He waved his hand, brushing away the sarcasm, “this is the main hallway. It’s mostly offices and things like that.” He began, pointing from room to room as he pushed his cart down the hall at a much slower pace than Alice had been going. “This is the break room.” Mike added, pointing out the small room, currently occupied by two nurses. John noted that there was a coffee pot, making a mental note that he would need to remember to use it later on. “And here we have a couple of conference rooms, nothing terribly interesting. We usually use them when we have staff meetings.” Mike continued, sounding quite bored. John guessed that this wasn’t the first time his coworker had done this tour for someone. “And in there,” John’s speaker paused a moment, nodding toward a room with multiple people inside. “we have Alice’s support group.” He finished.

Looking in, John’s eyes scanned the room, almost instantaneously locking on to the figure that he could only guess was Sherlock. His back looked the same, although, instead of being bare now it was covered by a jacket. Possibly leather. Wasn’t he hot in there? It was April, he should’ve been sweating like a madman in there. But John was brought out of his musings by Mike again, who cleared his throat. “Well, they prefer to be left alone. It’s kind of a close-knit group.” He explained.

As John looked in, Alice caught sight of him, giving him a wave, the attention being brought to him as everyone in the room turned to look in his direction. John was able to see Sherlock’s eyes, if only for a moment, a shocking shade of light blue. Turning his attention back to Alice, John waved back, giving her a smile. She reciprocated, gesturing for him to walk in. “Sorry, Mike, I think Alice needs me.” He explained to his coworker, reaching out to shake his hand again. “It was nice to meet you, I’ll see you later.” He replied, giving Mike’s hand a firm shake before opening the door to walk into the group.

Alice had apparently been finishing a thought, so John paused in the doorway to let her finish, closing the door quietly behind him. “—so that will be next Tuesday.” She finished, John just hearing the tail end of her sentence. “But anyway, this is John.” Alice smiled, gesturing to him. John waved at the group, somewhat shyly, but it was only due to the fact that the attention was unexpected. “John went to your performance last week, and he made a very gracious donation to us, along with some of the other people that went, that’s why we’ll be able to go on our outing next week.” She explained, gesturing for John to get a chair from the corner of the room. “John enjoyed the performance so much he decided to come to Bart’s to do his internship here, so you’ll be seeing him around the support group and the hospital very often.” She explained, everyone in the circle giving him happy smiles. “Anything you’d like to add John?” She asked kindly, shuffling some papers that she had in her lap.

Well that was a bit unexpected. John felt his cheeks go a bit pink as he realized all the eyes in the room were on him now, Sherlock’s included. “Well, I--.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really did enjoy the performance you guys did. It was very powerful, and I’m just so glad that I was able to see that. And thanks so much for giving me a solid reason to come to Bart’s. You’re all—“ He paused, scanning the group around him, once again meeting the light blue irises. “amazing.” John cleared his throat again. “You’re all very strong people, and I’m really glad that I’ve decided to be a doctor so that I can spend my time with people that are as brave as you are. So, thanks.” He nodded, weaving his fingers together as his elbows rested on his knees, looking around from person to person, smiling to each.

“Thank you, John. We’re glad to have you.” Alice replied, still all smiles. “Well, I know that we know each other, but we might as well give John a bit of a reminder.” She thought aloud, putting her papers under her chair. “Let’s go ‘round the circle and give our names, ages and a hobby. But we can’t have repeats! I’ll start for you and we’ll go… clockwise.” She decided. “I’m Alice, I’m 42, and I dance in my free time.” She said, the last piece of information resulting in a resounding groan from the group. Apparently the majority of them had been planning on using dance as their hobby. “Hey, I said no repeats.” She shrugged, looking to a young willowy girl to her left, waiting for her to begin. They went around the circle, coming up with a bunch of different hobbies including bungee jumping and gardening. In all honesty, John wasn’t paying that much attention, he was mostly focused on Sherlock who was listening quietly as everyone took their turn speaking. After Erica went (who apparently had a hobby for knitting) it was the jacket-clad patient’s turn.

He sat up a bit higher, one leg crossed, right ankle resting over his left knee. “Hello, I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m nineteen and my hobby is people watching.” Which resulted in a quiet rumble of chuckling from the rest of the people in the circle. “I would like to try bee keeping someday, though.” He added, lightly scratching the side of his nose with his thumb, the tone in his voice only slightly more serious. John got the feeling that Sherlock had two definite personalities, this playful, relaxed one and the solemn, strained one that he’d seen after the performance. John tore his attention away from Sherlock, doing his best to keep his focus on whoever it was that was speaking.

After a few more minutes, they’d gone around the whole circle and were back to Alice again at the top of the circle. Before continuing the meeting, she took a look at one of her papers that had been under her seat. “Alright. As you all know, we’ve been sharing our backstories to how we’ve gotten to our support group.” Alice explained, putting her paperwork back under the chair again. “Sherlock is our speaker today. Remember that you don’t need to share if you don’t want to.” She added, giving him a nod of encouragement.

John turned his attention to Sherlock, analyzing his reaction for a moment. There was a brief flicker of indecision, which John took as a sign to leave. After all, he was the outsider in this position. “I think I should—“

“It’s fine.”

John was halfway out of his seat, about to leave the group so that they could have some privacy while Sherlock shared his story, but he’d spoken to stop him. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on him, and he almost felt frozen in place.

“If you’re going to be around all the time, you’ll hear at one point or another, you might as well hear the whole truth from me first hand.” He explained, his hands rubbing together in thought, giving a slight shrug.

At this assertion, John nodded, sitting back down quietly. Sherlock nodded, running his palms along his shins, apparently preparing himself. The whole group had gone quiet, all of them seeming just as interested as John was. Did they really have as little idea what Sherlock had gone through as John had? He didn’t have much longer to question it, he’d already begun.

Sherlock cleared his throat, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts and keep himself grounded. He’d cracked during the performance, but that wouldn’t happen again. “Well, when I was growing up I--. My parents weren’t really around much. They work for the government, so they were usually at work or doing other things _for_ work. That didn’t really bother me all that much, it just kind of forced me to take care of myself more, I guess. I’ve always been somewhat independent, I suppose.  
“I have one brother, Mycroft. Even then we didn’t talk much, but he looked out for me. I suppose that he still does, in his own way.” Sherlock paused a moment, chuckling to himself gently before continuing.  
“Even when I was young I had this sort of… Ability, I guess. I must have developed it since I was always home alone. But-- I notice things. Pick up on little things about people. A stray hair, a specific shirt, the way someone will walk, or hold themselves. It all says a lot, almost like a language, and I’m fluent. But it’s very…” He took in a breath through his mouth, holding it inside his mouth a moment, thinking. “Distracting. It’s like a constant flow of information, I can’t help it. Its worse with people I don’t know, because then it’s all new, but once I’ve spent a decent amount of time with someone it’ll calm down. I get used to it.   
“Anyway, I went through grade school fairly quickly (I tend to be a fast learner) and I was accepted to Cambridge when I was 17. I moved out of my parent’s house, and into an apartment close to school. They always told me (when I saw them) that they wouldn’t support me after I moved out, so I needed to work. I was able to find a job off campus at a grocery store. My brother was more considerate than my parents, though. He sent me a monthly allowance, and that paid for my bills and such.   
“I had one roommate; Victor.”  At this point, Sherlock came to a complete stop, bringing a fist to his nose to make a gentle sniff. “Anyway, Victor. He made his money through less tasteful means.” He continued, coughing. “But that aside, it was surprising how well we got along. Usually I’m not that personable, but for some strange reason, I became very attached.   
“My brother always warned me when I was young not to get involved with ‘normal’ people. He kind of tends to separate the two of us from the rest, which I also do, but not quite in the same sense that he does. Sometimes I think he might even believe that he’s better than other people. Which I suppose I used to do. I was much more arrogant, much more self-centered.   
“But Victor. He really knew how to bring me down to earth. Of all the people I ever met, he wasn’t afraid to tell me off. He also—“ He paused, laughing, “wasn’t afraid to sell me dope either.” Sherlock sniffed again, taking a deep breath and sighing. And John knew that this was the tipping point of the story.   
“Like I said, my little quirks kind of act up when I’m around new people. As you can imagine, getting to a new school with thousands of students, my brain was going into complete overdrive. It couldn’t calm down because every time I would turn around, there would be another person I hadn’t seen before, and the whole process would start over again. And it was like that every day for about three weeks, but that was the point where I started to crack. Victor had been trying to convince me the whole time to try out some things, but I wouldn’t budge. But after a particularly bad day of analysis, Victor insisted that I tried something. In all honesty, I just did it to humor him, but I actually _liked_ it, which was something I hadn’t anticipated. It was very calming, and I just didn’t need to think. I could just be a body, and my mind could take a rest. It wasn’t soon after my first try that I started to lust after different substances. And Victor knew the right people, so I was able to find them and he would hardly ever charge me that much, so we kind of formed a system that way. Before, Victor had just been selling the stuff, but by then he tended to join in with me whenever I would use, and slowly it became a daily occurrence. Eventually, Mycroft’s allowance wasn’t enough to keep my hobbies fully financed as well as pay for my tuition, so I dropped out.” At this point Sherlock paused again, rubbing at his face as he sighed. As John looked more closely, it was obvious that his eyes and expression were filled with regret, and John felt his stomach dropped. Sherlock could’ve had a life, and he basically threw it away, and John swore in that moment that he’d never pitied anyone more than he did Sherlock Holmes. The young man looked up at the ceiling, his eyes teary, but he wasn’t crying, just a bit of dampness that accompanied a slight pink tint around his eyes.   
“Anyway.” He sniffed. “One night things got very bad and I was able to somehow get ahold of heroin. I don’t even remember why I was so upset.” He laughed, the sound acidic; like a laugh that would follow a joke told at a funeral. “I hadn’t tried it before then, and neither had Victor. He was a bit hesitant to inject, but I insisted. Eventually, I was able to figure out our dosage. At least that had been what I thought. Victor had nearly refused to try it, so I took the injection by myself and stormed out of the apartment, calling him a coward as I made my exit.” He shook his head. “I can’t _believe_ that I actually said that. If anyone had been a coward, it was me for running away from my problems. I took my walk completely buzzed, but I was able to someway find my way back home.   
“It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d left the apartment or not.” Sherlock nearly growled, taking a deep breath as he stared off, John guessing that he wasn’t seeing the room around them. “I went over to him to see if he would respond, but he wouldn’t say anything. I called the paramedics, but they said they couldn’t do anything. He was already gone.” Sherlock cleared his throat, looking to Alice. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m done now.” He confessed, taking a breath that shook gently as he looked down at his shoes.

“That’s perfectly fine, Sherlock.” She replied, her voice gentle. “It was very brave of you to share with us, and I think that we all feel that we know you better now.” Alice added, a slight murmur following from the group. “But I think that’s enough for all of us.” She sighed, picking up the papers from under her chair. “We’ll all meet up again on Tuesday, and we’ll go on our outing.” She smiled, standing up to open the door for all of the occupants.

They all stood, Sherlock being first as he stalked out the door, mumbling “Excuse me.” As he shouldered past the doctor in the doorway.

John couldn’t do anything but watch as he left.

 


End file.
